“Do you like it when I cook for you?”
“Of course. You’re already halfway there, little one.”
“Halfway where?”
He only smiled.
The kitchen was quiet this morning.
Which was strange, because the wife usually coughed. Coughed and cried and collapsed near the sink. But today, she was sleeping. That’s what he said, anyway.
Mara blinked at the breakfast set out in front of her: soft eggs, toast with strawberry jam, and a glass of milk with just the tiniest splash of rose syrup. It tasted like candy.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asked.
She nodded. Yes. She had slept in the girl’s old room again. The one with the dolls and the little canopy bed and the blanket that said “Daddy’s Princess.”
Wait—no. It said “Danielle’s Blanket.” Not… not the other thing.
Don’t be silly. It’s just a blanket.
It’s just pink. Pink is fine.
Pink means you’re safe.
“Your wife?” Mara asked quietly. “She’s still not waking up?”
He smiled as he cleared the dishes. “No. But she’s resting better now. I think she’s finally letting go.”
Something in the way he said that made Mara pause.
He had such nice hands. Even when they brushed hers accidentally, they were warm—too warm, like they were keeping secrets. And she always felt dizzy after he touched her. Like her bones went soft. Like her heart stopped knowing how to fight.
“Why do you always make me breakfast?” she whispered, not quite able to look at him.
His eyes crinkled as he laughed. “Because I’m proud of you. You’ve been working so hard, little spirit finder. And you’re so—”
He reached up and tucked a stray curl behind her ear.
“—pretty when you’re tired.”
She blushed. Why did that make her feel happy? She wasn’t here to be pretty. She was here to help. She was here to find Danielle’s ghost. But her notebook was still blank.
And her dresses were getting shorter.
And she had started wearing bows in her hair again.
She couldn’t remember buying those.
From upstairs came a wet, muffled sound. Like something coughing up blood into the pillow.
Mara blinked slowly.
She’s still alive.
Of course she is.
Just sleeping.
Just waiting to be replaced.
He reached across the table, and took her hand in his.
And the word “wife” echoed in her chest, slow and sweet like honey melting on a burner.
You’re already halfway there, little one.
Just smile more. Just say yes. Just let the pink in.